Savva and the Life of Man eBook

THE MOTHER’S PRAYER

God, I beg you, let my son live. I can understand
only one thing, I can say only one thing, only one
thing—­God, let my son live. I have
no other words, all is dark around me, everything is
falling. I understand nothing, and there’s
such a terror in my heart, O Lord, that I can say
only this one thing—­God, let my son live!
Let him live! Forgive me for praying so poorly.
But I cannot pray in any other way. You understand,
O Lord, I can’t. Look at me! Just look
at me! Do you see? Do you see how my head
shakes, do you see how my hands shake? But what
are my hands, O Lord! Have pity on him. He
is so young—­he has a birthmark on his right
hand. Let him live, even if only a little while,
a little while. He is so young, such a mere foolish
child—­he’s still fond of sweets.
I bought him grapes. Pity—­have pity!

[She weeps in a subdued way, covering her face
with her hands. Man speaks without looking at
her.

THE FATHER’S PRAYER

Here I am praying, you see. I’ve bent my
old knees. I’ve prostrated myself in the
dust before you. I’m kissing the ground,
do you see? Maybe I have sometimes offended you.
If so, forgive me, forgive me. It is true, I
was haughty, arrogant. I demanded and did not
beg. Often I condemned—­forgive me.
And if you wish, if this be your will, punish me,
but spare my son. Spare him, I beg you. Not
for mercy, not for pity do I pray you. I pray
for justice. You are old, and I am old too.
You will understand more easily than I. Bad people
wanted to kill him, people who insult you by their
deeds and defile your earth—­bad, heartless
people, who throw stones from behind corners.
From behind corners, the scoundrels! Do not then,
I pray you, permit the fulfilment of this evil deed.
Stay the blood, give back the life—­give
back the life to my noble son! You took everything
away from me, but did I ever ask you like a beggar:
“Give me back my wealth, give me back my friends,
give me back my talent”? No, never.
I did not even ask you for my talent, and you know
what his talent means to a man. It is more than
life. I thought perhaps that’s the way it
ought to be, and I bore everything, bore everything
with pride. But now I ask you on my knees, in
the dust, kissing the earth: “Give back
my son’s life.” I kiss your earth!

[He rises. Someone called He listens indifferently
to the father’s and mother’s prayers.

WIFE

I’m afraid your prayer was not humble enough.
There was a certain tone of pride in it.

MAN

No, no, my wife, I spoke well to Him, the way a man
should speak. He cannot love cringing flatterers
better than brave, proud men who speak the truth.
No, wife, you cannot understand. Now I believe
also and feel reassured—­in fact, I am happy.
I feel that I too still signify something to my boy,
and it makes me glad. Go and see if he’s
asleep. He needs a lot of good, hard sleep.